


I hope you die (I hope we both die)

by peachsoul



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Slow Burn, Sorta Happy Ending, Tenderness, They're both so dumb, This is NOT a fix-it fic, basically eddie is a ghost and they're both still so fucking stupid, but it maybe is, ghost!eddie, i have no clue how to tag this, its about the love that never goes away!!!, they both be like: 40 years old and still repressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:36:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsoul/pseuds/peachsoul
Summary: Richie loves him so much, and he’s been a flame that has slowly been burning out since he’s gotten back to his empty apartment, and now, he feels as though he is getting lit back up. Every single one of his nerve endings are catching fire. He’s sure it’s going to kill him all over again. He’s about to get bulldozed down and he’s going to let it happen. He’s going to let Eddie kill him.Eddie is dead, and a ghost, and in his apartment in Chicago for some reason,and Richie is going to let him rip his insides out.





	I hope you die (I hope we both die)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back again to force you to read another self indulgent piece that literally no one asked me to write!! 
> 
> This was supposed to just be a short and sweet little thing, and then somehow it become 16k of word vomit, too much internal monologue, and general dumbassery. 
> 
> I would like to thank my cold medicine and miss Mitski for getting me through this fic. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Richie drinks a lot after Derry 2.0 happens, which, he mostly hates out of spite due to it being the most predictable thing he could have started doing. 

But, Hey, they can’t all be like Bill and Mike who decided to uproot their entire lives after Derry, and move to Florida together. They have a pet parrot now, they named him Stan.

Richie had teased them mercifully over the phone when he first found out, but followed the taunts with well wishes and congratulations, and then proceeded to hang up and vomit into the kitchen sink.

Richie supposes the only person he could have ever imagined uprooting his life for was Eddie and he’s dead now, so.

So, Richie drinks way too much, and ignores the way his manager looks at him in disgust sometimes when he shows up to meetings smelling like vodka. He doesn’t tell the others how badly he’s doing when they call to check up on him every week. They disguise the calls by saying it’s so that everyone can keep up with each other, but Richie knows that’s not the full truth. He knows it because of the concerned stare Bill had given him as he was about to board his flight back to Chicago, as if he knew Richie was one second away from self-destructing. Bill always knew Richie way too well. He also knew because Ben reminded him quite literally every chance he could, that he and Bev had a spare room in their home in New York, that it was his if he ever wanted it.

He loved them all so fiercely he felt like he was going to burn alive with it, he just wish they didn’t love him as much.

The last thing he wants for them is to worry about someone who can’t seem to get their shit in order. It’s been months. They’re all finally happy, Richie isn’t going to be the asshole to take that away from them.

_ “You need time to mourn Richie....losing Eddie....It’s going to take time.” _

Mike had said to him in a hushed tone during one of their more serious phone calls, a few weeks after Derry, back when Richie walked around the streets of Chicago feeling like he was still down in the Neibolt house, clutching Eddie’s lifeless body in his arms, hands covered in his own blood mixed with Eddie’s, that had poured out of him like a faucet. Pleading to feel a heartbeat against his chest.

It has now been four months since everything went down. Sometimes Richie still thinks he can feel the clammy feeling of Eddie’s skin on his, or on the really bad days, he can almost still feel the blood and gore coating his hands and his clothes. On those days he tends to lie in bed and avoid the million text flooding his phone every hour. He tries to ignore the way he hasn’t stopped shaking since Derry. How it only gets worse when he thinks about Eddie dying under his hands.

He loves his friends, but Eddie is gone, for good this time, and so is Stan for that matter, and there is a dark feeling taking root in the center of Richie’s chest, that he fears will never go away. So he drinks more than he sleeps and eats and tries to pretend like it’s all okay. 

He drinks, and he drinks, and he drinks until he can’t feel the tips of his fingers anymore, until he can forget Stan’s last name and his curly hair, and he tries to forget the way it had felt to remember how he loved Eddie the second he laid eyes on him for the first time in years.

And he doesn’t call _Bill_ _or Bev_ _or Ben or Mike,_ because they wouldn’t get it. He refuses to be angry towards them, he knows that they’ve all fought their own demons, and Stan and Eddie were just as much a part of their families, as they were to Richie. 

But, he can’t help but think about Bill and Mike in Florida, learning what it’s like to love each other. Richie thinks about Ben and Bev who have decided to settle down in a cozy apartment in New York City, with their  _ fucking _ dog for Christ Sake, relearning everything they loved about each other since they were twelve years old, and Richie is so fucking bitter he feels it clawing at his throat, feels vaguely like he’s swallowed battery acid every time he hears Mike laugh in the background of a phone call with Bill.

Richie is so bitter and he feels incomplete, just the way he had felt way before Derry 2.0, and nothing has changed. Except, two of his best friends are now dead, and there is nothing he can do about it. 

He misses Eddie like his own heart was ripped out and left to rot at the bottom of the quarry, and more often than not he finds himself wishing so desperately that he had stayed down in the Neibolt house with Eddie. That he had fought harder to stay there, holding him until the house collapsed around them both. Or that at the very least, his memory had been wiped clean again, this time for good.

But Richie knows he doesn’t ever get to have the things he wants and wishes for, so he tries to forget about death and blood, and the hollow feeling in the center of his fucking chest. And he moves forward. 

\---

When it happens, Richie is so sure he’s finally reached the inevitable mental break that has been teetering on the edge of his conscious since he got back, that he simply rolls over in bed and goes to sleep.

It’s a Tuesday night and Richie is so tired he can taste the exhaustion in his mouth, heady and stale. His bones ache in a way that seems to start happening the day you turn 40. The entire day had consisted of hours upon hours of meetings with high end executives who didn’t actually care if he was funny or not, who just wanted to know if he was profitable enough to give a shit about. Turns out he is.

His manger slaps his back roughly after he signs the deal for a Netflix special. Tells Richie that he’s proud of him, tells him to go out and celebrate, get laid,  _ you deserve it Rich _ .

Richie doesn’t do any of that, of course. He can’t drink in front of others due to the fact that he knows it will end in him in hysterics. And he hasn’t gotten laid since, he can’t even remember when the last time was. The idea of being intimate with another human being leaves a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Instead, Richie orders pizza, and drinks 5 vodka cranberries in front of his couch, watches  _ It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown _ on Netflix, and tries to ignore how fast his heart and brain have been racing all day. 

He shoots off a text in the groupchat, letting the fuckers know they need to make it out to the show that's being filmed, to support him and what not. At least then, he’ll have four people laughing at his jokes. Richie breathes out deeply through his nose when he gets a varied of responses that range from,  _ We’ll definitely be there Rich! _ , to,  _ Ur not funny, but okay _ . That one is from Ben, Bev is clearly rubbing off on him.

Richie tries not to wonder what Stan and Eddie would have said to him. Finds his appetite disappearing as soon as that thought pops into his mind. With that, he decides he’s sufficiently drunk enough, and thinks it’s time to head to sleep before he lets his mind wander too far down all the many what ifs of his life. 

\-----

It’s basically become the night time routine for Richie to lay in bed for a few hours, stare up at his ceiling, and think about all the things he shouldn’t be thinking about at three in the morning, but does anyways.

So, he’s not even surprised when he turns over in bed for the hundredth time to see his clock blinking red at him, 3:33 AM. Richie groans out loud, kicks the sheets off of him, and gets out of bed.

His plan is to take some sleeping pills and get the fuck to sleep, before he does something stupid, like look Eddie up on Facebook. Again.

Richie crosses his apartment to get to his bathroom, sighs heavily once he turns on the light and looks at himself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty sight. 

Objectively, he looks pretty fucking bad. There are dark circles under his eyes that are starting to look like actual bruises. Richie puffs out his cheeks, and tugs at his outgrown hair, currently sticking up in every direction, he needs to shower desperately. He also needs to shave. And maybe he also needs to see a therapist and get medicated, but that's for another time, Richie decides, and wholeheartedly ignores the voice in his brain that sounds oddly like Eddie ask him when another time really is.

Richie grips the edge of the sink momentarily, taking several deep breaths before reaching up to rip open his medicine cabinet, and race out of the bathroom, dry swallowing three sleeping pills on his way out.

There’s an odd feeling crawling around in his chest as he steps into the living room, he slows down to a stop in front of his couch and something in him tells him to sit.

A headache is tugging at the edges of his brain, daring to spill over into migraine territory if he doesn’t get to sleep soon, but all Richie can seem to do is sit on the edge of the couch and listen to the silence of his apartment. 

In the stillness, Richie lets his mind wander to Eddie, which he’s avoided doing at all costs ever since he got back, because thinking of Eddie means thinking of Eddie being dead, of Eddie being stuck under that house, alone and in the dark.

_ “Richie...You know I...I…”. _

With the memory, Richie flies off the couch as if he’s been burned, immediately stubbing his toe on the coffee table. Almost crashing into one of the glass side tables. He really needs to go to fucking bed. 

Richie stops abruptly in the doorway to his room, noticing a familiar fearful feeling prickling up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. There is a zing of panic that runs through him, like a shock of electricity making the tips of his fingers ache. He takes a step backwards on instinct. The room suddenly feels suffocating, and stuffy, as if all of the air had been sucked out in the two minutes he had left it.

“If we really didn’t kill that stupid fucking clown, and it is in my fucking room right now. It better just kill me and get it over with, I am too old for this shit man.” Richie mumbles to himself, clenching his fist and squeezing his eyes shut when he hears a floorboard creak.

Richie shakes himself out,  _ Now is not the time to be a pussy, Tozier _ , and peeks his head into the room fully.

He breathes an immediate sigh of relief, taking in the dark, yet empty bedroom, the only light coming from the sliver of moonlight that's shining through a crack in his curtains. Richie takes a tentative step forward, taking catalog of everything around him. Dirty clothes still haphazardly sitting on his desk chair that he hasn’t used in years, random books and journals still scattered across the floor near his bed. His sheets and pillows are exactly in the tangled mess he had left them in when he got up to go to the bathroom, everything is exactly where it should be.

But something still feels off, Richie thinks as he sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, looking around warily at the shadows that are cast like black holes all across his room.

Ben has told him so many times that he should put more furniture in his room.  _ It makes the place look more homey and lived-in, Richie. Less like a haunted house _ , is what he had said. 

Richie reaches to grab his phone off his bedside table, suddenly intent on looking up bookshelves. He ponders dedicating an entire row to all of Bill’s books. Bill will absolutely hate it, Richie thinks proudly as he reaches to unlock his phone.

That’s when he hears it, come from behind, so soft and barely there, that Richie is sure he would have missed it if he hadn’t been seconds away from pissing his pants minutes beforehand.

“Rich..”

Richie drops his phone to the floor, flinching violently at the loud crash it makes on its way down. He can feel his heart jump into his throat. 

He doesn’t want to turn around, if anything, every piece of horror media and just his life experiences in general are telling him not to fucking turn around. If he turns around, he will die. 

“Richie, for fucks sake.”

Bile rises in his throat at the sound of the familiar voice. Richie has to be fucking dreaming. Did he drink too much, fall and hit his head and now he’s in a coma of some sort?

Richie holds his breath and turns around, immediately fucking regrets it when a figure that looks disgustingly like Eddie is standing by his window, moonlight casting the figure in a soft glow.

The Eddie-looking figure stares at him in bewilderment, as if Richie is the fucking apparition standing in his room at three in the morning. 

“Uh. Hi?” That’s all it says with an awkward wave so like Eddie that Richie almost bites his tongue off.

Richie squints his eyes. “Yeah. I’m not doing this.” 

And with that Richie gets under his covers, and goes back to sleep, pointedly ignoring any and all noises that are being made around his apartment once he turns around.

If some fucking ghost, or whatever, wants to kill him. Then so fucking be it. 

\-----

When Richie wakes up to an empty room, he’s all but assured that it was just some crazy fucked up dream that was dug out by his deeply repressed brain. He figures it’s what makes the most amount of sense.

Instead of dwelling on it too much, Richie gets out of bed to go make himself a cup of coffee and a bagel, wincing at the sound of his bones cracking. He really should maybe start doing yoga like Mike and his manager had suggested.

Richie turns on some shitty pop music on his phone, and ignores the way his heart is still clenching with the image of Eddie from last night. He wasn’t real, Richie has to remind himself when he feels his hands start shaking while he’s making his coffee.

Everything is normal and in its place when Richie does a quick glance of his apartment once his coffee is finished, and his bagels are in the toaster.

He decides that he’s going a little stir crazy and starts looking up flights to New York on his phone. Maybe Ben and Bev would be down to entertain him for a bit. God knows he could use the company.

The problem is that Richie can’t seem to fucking let it go, he’s looking for cheap flights and trying to enjoy his coffee with way too much suga in it, and his bagel with way too much peanut butter on it, and he just can’t fucking shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong.

Mostly he can’t get Eddie’s face out of his fucking head, more so than usual.

Richie hangs his head, running his fingers through his greasy hair. “He wasn’t real Tozier. He wasn’t fucking real, pull yourself together.”

“Who wasn’t real?” says a voice behind him.

Richie screams so loud his throat immediately burns. 

He whips his head around to see the same Eddie-looking figure sitting on his kitchen counter, as if everything is just fine and dandy 

The Eddie-looking figure rolls his eyes, which what the fuck, and glares at Richie. “You never heard of ghost before? If I recall correctly, you were pretty obsessed with all things supernatural when we were fourteen, wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone about it.”

The figure sounds, and looks, and moves so much like Eddie that Richie feels his palms start to itch. Richie is going to have to go to a fucking psych ward.

“Yowza! I am going fucking crazy! I’m crazy, I am officially certifiable, Stan would have loved this.” Richie feels his chest constrict painfully as he laughs humorlessly, the sound echoes in his empty apartment, except apparently it’s not empty, because Eddie’s fucking ghost is just straight up chilling on his kitchen counter at the moment.

“Richie, just calm down alright. Everything’s going to be fi-“

Richie cuts Ghost Eddie off by laughing so hard, his ribs start hurting. He also feels like he’s about to pass out, so he does the most logical thing he can think of and lies down face first on his kitchen floor.

He immediately starts taking shallow breaths and lets his forehead rest on the cool hardwood, ignoring the constant thrum running through his body.

It’s suddenly too quiet, Richie can’t breathe if it’s too quiet. 

“I should probably get a maid service or something, these floors are really dusty. Whadya think Spaghetti?”

Richie is deflecting, hard, and he knows it, and he knows Ghost Eddie knows it too by the tense silence that has filled the space. Richie just really hopes that Ghost Eddie is more forgiving than Alive Eddie was, because Richie is three seconds away from doing something stupid, like, booking a flight to Alaska and never talking to anyone again, or like calling Bill and crying for two hours because Eddie’s ghost is haunting him.

“Get off the floor, Rich.” Ghost Eddie whispers gently from somewhere beside Richie.

Richie shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, discreetly pinching himself on the side to see if he’ll wake up from whatever fucked up nightmare this has to be.

“Please get off the floor, Richie.” Richie flinches when he hears the kitchen counter squeak slightly, knows Eddie is closer to him when he feels a gust of biting air touch the back of his neck.

“You’re not real Eds. So, I am going to lie on the floor until Bill convinces himself that I have tried to off myself like our dear Staniel, and forces everyone to come to Chicago just to find that I am not in fact dead, but th-“

Richie almost chokes on his own spit when he feels the physically tug of his hair.

“God Dammit Richie! Get off the fucking floor and look at me already.” Eddie grits out in one breath.

The way he sees it, Richie has two options. He can lie on the ground and hope that whatever is happening eventually stops; or, he can get up and find some positive in the fact that this particular psychotic break is giving him the chance to see Eddie again, even like this.

One wins out pretty clearly for Richie. 

“Well, when you ask politely...” Richie says quietly as he slowly begins to sit up. Still refusing to look at the figure that is on its knees beside him.

“Jesus, even when I’m literally dead you’re acting insufferable.” There is an aborted movement that Richie catches from the corner of his eye. Knows with a sense of gut-wrenching familiarity, that it was Eddie reaching out to touch him, and then deciding against it.

He always used to do that when they were younger. Richie would fixate and agonize over those small moments for hours on end, wondering why Eddie never let himself touch Richie. Wondered why he would let Richie be all over him with sometimes minimal bemoaning, and never reciprocate. 

Richie is thinking way too much and he is going to die on his dusty kitchen floor, and he will be okay with that, he decides.

“Don’t say that.” Richie finally snaps after a few tense seconds of silence, turning to look wearily at the figure next to him.

The worst thing of all, Richie decides almost instantaneously, is that it looks exactly like Eddie, healthy and, somehow, glowing. Nothing like the Eddie that died in the Neibolt house. He doesn’t look vague or cloudy like Richie thought ghost would look like. No, Eddie looks tangible and real, but something is still slightly off about him, something that nags at Richie and reminds him that the man in front of him isn’t alive. 

“Say what?” Eddie mutters, finally settling on mirroring Richie by sitting down with his legs outstretched in front of him.

Richie fights the very strong urge to pull away when the toe of Eddie’s shoe touches his.

“That you’re dead, dipshit. I already have to think about it constantly on my own. I don’t need your ghostly self to remind me of it.” Richie steels himself, and looks straight at Eddie, and is immediately unnerved at Eddie staring right back, unflinching and earnest.

His eyes are bright as ever, he’s literally glowing, and Richie thinks he looks beautiful, and right now is not the time to have a gay meltdown about his dead best friend, not even close.

“Sorry. I just....I don- Fuck. I don’t know.” The Eddie in front of him bites his lip and turns away sharply, looks out Richie’s big kitchen window that is looking out over the cloudy Chicago morning.

Richie should be one of those people down there, walking the streets, on their way to work or to breakfast with their friends. Instead, Richie is sitting on his kitchen floor, talking to the ghost of his best friend from childhood, who also happens to be the man he loved.

_ Loves _ , Richie’s brain supplies him with, which is as unhelpful as ever.

“Why is this happening?” Richie asks helplessly. He tries not to sound like he’s begging for Eddie to give him an answer, but he knows he misses that mark by miles when Eddie turns to look at him again with nothing but guilt and fear in his eyes.

Richie wishes more than ever that he could reach out and touch, but doesn’t know if he can. 

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you Richie. But, I really don’t know what’s going on right now either.” Richie watches, his heart aching in his chest, as Eddie lays down on the floor, hands laying flat on his chest.

He decides to lay down like that too, gulping in a deep breath as the cold wood seeps through his thin long sleeve. He feels more balanced now that he isn’t looking at Eddie, having to constantly remind himself that he is talking to a ghost and not an alive Eddie is a bit exhausting.

“Well that would be a first. I thought you knew everything Mr. Risk analyst.” And this part, Richie is good at. He’s good at the jokes and making people feel better in the hard moments. He hopes that it’ll be enough to placate the situation that’s unraveling in front of them.

To Richie’s absolute delight, Eddie chuckles softly, the sound ringing throughout the kitchen, reverberating in Richie’s ribcage. And then before they know it, they’re both laughing, a little maniacally, but Richie hasn’t felt this at peace since he saw Eddie at the Chinese restaurant, alive and still everything he loved as a kid.

He doesn’t want to think about how it might actually kill him when this suddenly goes away, whatever  _ this _ is.

Their laughter dies down and they’re back to silently basking in each other’s presence. It’s not awkward, Richie thinks it should be awkward, but he doesn’t want to break the silence by voicing any of the billion things bouncing around in his head, knowing that they’ll have to talk things out if he does.

Suddenly in a swift and complete accidental move, Eddie extends his hand and touches the top of Richie’s own outstretched hand. They both go completely rigid at the sensation of cold skin touching warm skin. Neither of them say anything for a beat, when very slowly, Eddie starts to hook his pinkie with Richie’s.

Richie inhales sharply, finds himself squeezing Eddie’s pinkie for a second, and then immediately bolts up off the floor and races to the trash can, the cup of coffee and bagel he had for breakfast, burning his throat as it makes its way back up.

He looks helplessly over at Eddie, not daring to leave the trash can. He can feel the nausea ebb and flow as Eddie stands up, takes a step towards Richie, and then forces himself back.

Eddie rings his hands together anxiously, and winces as Richie dry heaves pathetically.

“Yeah, we should probably try and figure his out.”

All Richie can do is slump back down to the floor on his knees and give Eddie a weak thumbs up, letting his head hang, chin resting on his chest as he tries to control his breathing.

He is so  _ fucked _ .

\-----

With enough convincing and general bullying coming from Eddie about how greasy his hair looks, and how bad he smells (Which can ghost even smell? Richie decides to ask later) Richie finds himself staring at the white tiles lining his shower, wondering where his life really went wrong.

He wishes he could say it started going wrong four months ago when him and five of his childhood best friends had to go back to their hometown and kill a fucking demonic clown that’s been waiting for them for 27 years, but that would be a raging lie.

Maybe it started going wrong when Bill had introduced him to Eddie all those Summers ago when they were young and naive and still had some hope in them. The sun was so bright and brutal that Richie had felt his insides melting. Seeing Eddie for the first time, vibrant and sweaty, and so apprehensive to Richie’s constant blabber directed right at him. 

Yeah, that’s probably where things started to go wrong. Richie had been a moth drawn to a flame, ready to get burned at any chance to get  _ closer, and closer, and closer. _

Richie jumps a foot in the ear, ripping him out of his daze, when a voice booms through the closed bathroom door. He had forgotten that someone else had been in the apartment with him, that Eddie was in his apartment, as a ghost. Jesus Christ.

“Did you die in there? Cause I gotta say, dying in the shower is a lame way to go Rich.” Eddie’s voice filters through the room faintly, muted by the sound of the running water and the pounding in Richie’s heart. How he hasn’t had a heart attack yet is beyond him.

Richie decides not to bring up Stan, and takes one long steadying breathe before turning off the shower, and steps out, putting on the boxers and sweatpants he brought in with him.

“Your place is a fucking mess, man. Very you, but a mess nonetheless.” Is the first thing that Eddie says to him as he steps out of the bathroom, steam flowing past him as he towels his hair, watching Eddie look at the stuff around his room.

Richie stands still by his bed, feeling like a stranger in his own home as he fixates on Eddie’s back flex and shift as he goes around, clearly wanting to touch stuff, unsure if he’s allowed.

He fits perfectly among the general disorder of Richie’s room, of his life even, he always did, and Richie forcibly has to look away then, because his brain is taking him to dangerous territories. He cannot begin to delude himself into thinking he gets to keep this Eddie. He didn’t get to keep the Eddie that took up his days, and hours, and months, and years back when they were growing up in Derry, touching and pushing into each other’s space like they would die without it. He didn’t get to keep the Eddie that was so easy to to relearn how to love and care for, even after 27 years, before getting ripped right back out of his hands. And he especially doesn’t get to keep the Eddie that stands in front of him now, mostly because he’s a fucking ghost, but you know. 

“Wow, that rhymed. You’re a poet and you don’t even kn-“

“Don’t, finish that sentence. You’re better than that.” Eddie cuts him off, but a chuckle still manages to slip past his lips before he covers it with a cough.

Richie feels eyes on his back as he continues rummaging through his dresser trying to find a clean shirt. Which reminds him that he really needs to do some fucking laundry.

He makes a noise of success as he feels the fabric of a soft hoodie, the piece of clothing stuffed all the way back in his dresser for some reason. Richie quickly tugs the grey hoodie on and turns back around to face Eddie, who is now sitting awkwardly on his bed, looking at Richie like he’s the one who's going to vomit.

“What? Is something wrong?” Richie walks over to Eddie quickly, sitting down beside him with a few inches still left between them. Richie isn’t sure why he’s scared to touch him, his fingers won’t go through Eddie as if he is a figment of his imagination or air, he’ll be able to touch skin and something tangible and vaguely alive, and maybe that’s the scary part. None of this should be happening in the first place.

“Is that my hoodie.” Eddie states, less than a question and more like a fact. He looks up at Richie wearily through his lashes, and Richie could easily lie, he knows Eddie would let him, but it’s kind of pointless is all.

“Uh, Yeah? I mean, Yes. Yeah. It is,” Richie clicks his tongue and ignores how hot he feels suddenly, “Bill said it was best if we, uh, if we sent all your stuff back to your um, your...”

“Myra?” Eddie says meekly, turning to fully face Richie, face hollow and open. 

It’s all very dramatic, but Richie is about 98% sure his ribs are about to crack open. 

Richie loves him so much, and he’s been a flame that has slowly been burning out since he’s gotten back to his empty apartment, and now, he feels as though he is getting lit back up. Every single one of his nerve endings are catching fire. He’s sure it’s going to kill him all over again. He’s about to get bulldozed down and he’s going to let it happen. He’s going to let Eddie kill him. Eddie is dead, and a ghost, and in his apartment in Chicago for some reason, and Richie is going to let him rip his insides out.

He says none of this to Eddie, of course. It’s too much, Richie has always felt too much.

“Yeah, your....Myra. None of the others really wanted to go into your hotel room after...you know,” Richie winces, messes with the strings on the hoodie, he cannot look into Eddie’s eyes right now, he will be swallowed alive if he does, “So, I went in there, packed up your stuff. The hoodie was...it was just there on the bed. I just ...took it? I felt like I needed to. It sounds stupid now that I’m saying all of this out loud. I didn’t even tell the others I took it.”

A hush falls over them and all Richie can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing and the pounding in his head. He doesn’t want to cry, but he can feel Eddie next to him and that was not something he thought he was ever going to get the chance to feel again, so there are hot tears prickling behind his eyes, ready to spill over.

Richie has cried a lot since he got on the plane to fly back home, even before then. He cried in the lounge area of the creepy townhouse when they got back from the quarry, folding in on himself on the couch as Mike and Ben seemingly tried to hold all of his broken pieces together. Richie had felt all of ten years old that night when Bill walked into his hotel room and climbed into bed with him, and let Richie cry into his chest until they both eventually fell asleep. He sobbed till he dry heaved in the O’Hare bathroom, not knowing how he was going to walk around like his entire life hadn’t flipped upside down and left to die in Derry. 

He was forty years old, he was definitely starting to bald, his manager was definitely going to kill, but he felt like the twelve year old that had been stuck in Derry all over again, afraid of saying too much, of feeling too much. 

And he’s probably going to cry now, watching Eddie’s hand slowly inch closer towards his own where it sits clenched tightly in his lap.

“You’ve done things that are a lot more stupider than steal one of my hoodies, Rich. You make a living off of telling bad jokes, that you don’t even write,” Eddie pauses as Richie lets out a watery laugh, reaches over to grip Richie’s knee tightly, “I’m glad you kept something.”

Richie wipes his eyes and lets his gaze fall on Eddie, beautiful, perfect, stupid, insufferable, and a very dead, Eddie. He still manages to be everything that Richie never let himself have.

“I probably could have stolen something more expensive. Could have sold it on eBay, or like Facebook marketplace.” Eddie scoffs and gently shoves him away, and Richie thinks  _ fuck it _ , and reaches out to intertwine their fingers, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut when he feels Eddie’s cold fingers squeeze his own, hard. It’s so fucking weird, but it’s kinda the best thing in the world.

And there they are, Ghost and man, sitting on Richie’s unmade bed in Downtown Chicago and they’re gripping onto each other like they’re afraid they’re both about to be dragged away from each other for what seems like the billionth time in years. And Richie still wants so bad that he wishes the ground would open up and drag him down as far as it can, until he reaches the core of the Earth and burns. He wants to be eaten alive and torn to pieces. He wants to be with Eddie. 

He knows he’s going to get none of that. 

“I don’t know why I’m here Rich...” Eddie whispers, like he’s telling Richie a secret. Richie hopes he doesn’t notice the tremors that are coursing through his body as he watches Eddie stare at their connected hands, running his thumb tenderly over Richie’s knuckles.

“Well, every ghost movie ever seems to dictate that you might have some unfinished business to take care of before you go, wherever it is you go after you kick the can.” Richie feels his stomach roll, the constant reminder that he is somehow talking to Eddie’s Ghost is not at all pleasant or warming his heart.

“No, I-I think I get that part...” Eddie trails off, gently disconnecting their hands much to Richie’s dismay, but he doesn’t go far. He shuffles closer to Richie on the bed, giving him one quick glance before he lets his head rest in the space between Richie’s neck and shoulder. Richie feels cold all over, but he doesn’t dare move away, instead, wraps a tight arm around Eddie’s waist.

“I guess I just don’t know why I’m  _ here _ . With you. I had a life outside of Derry, and you, and the other losers. I have- had, a wife,” he shifts, Richie just tightens his hold and keeps him still, “Shouldn’t I be with her?”

Richie says nothing, because what is there for him to say? Eddie is a Ghost and he somehow, for some reason, got stuck with Richie. There’s not exactly a pep talk for that sort of stuff.

So, instead, Richie lets his cheek rest on top of Eddie’s head, trying to think of what to do next. Hopes that Eddie comes up with a plan first, something that Richie can follow. Richie always followed. 

And so they sit, they sit through Richie’s side going numb and he starts feeling staticy all over. They sit past lunch, and they sit while watching the world pass them by outside Richie’s window, the sun making its way across the sky. Lighting up the room in a soft, hazy glow. 

Eddie does nothing but cling onto Richie tighter and tighter as the minutes pass, and Richie lets him. There isn’t a lot he wouldn’t do for Eddie right at that very moment. 

God, they are so  _ fucked _ .

\-----------

“Do you think this would make a funny bit? Like, my best friend from childhood decided to haunt my ass for no reason.” Richie says as he bites into an egg roll, kicks at Eddie gently in the shin.

“First of all, what part of this is funny to you Richie?” Eddie furrows his eyebrows and shoots Richie an unimpressed look, that he knows is at least half fond.

They’re sitting on Richie’s couch now, deciding to move out of his bedroom once Richie’s stomach started growling. After a quick argument about whether Eddie could eat or not _(I’m a fucking ghost you moron, of course I can’t eat. I don’t have a digestive system!)_ Richie decided on ordering take out for himself. 

It feels comfortable, and Richie knows it shouldn’t because there's literally a ghost sitting next to him on his couch. He figures it’s probably okay that his insides feel warm and fuzzy considering the ghost is his dead best friend that he’s missed everyday for about four months.

Richie can’t think about the implications of it all, or he’ll freak out. 

He laughs obnoxiously, just to piss Eddie off. “Um, literally all of it is funny.”

He dodges the pillow that Eddie throws at him easily, “I’ll also finally get to tell people that ghost can absolutely pick shit up and touch you. They’ll give me the Nobel Peace Prize Eds!” 

Richie sees Eddie bite the inside of his cheek and knows he said something that struck a nerve.

“Is it the Eds thing? Really? You hate it that much that you’ve taken the anger with you to the afterlife?” Richie puts his Chinese food down on the table and scoots closer to Eddie, ignoring the other man refusing to make eye contact with him.

“It’s not that. This is weird right? Like, this is so fucking weird Richie. I’m dead, and a fucking ghost.” Eddie urges. Richie can see the panic set in and scoots even closer to the other man.

“Hey, stop. Eddie stop it,” Richie gently detangles Eddie’s fingers from where they’re tugging at his hair, “It’s okay. I promise we're going to figure this out. You and me. We’ll fucking figure something out. We always do buddy.

Eddie looks at him skeptically, but doesn’t keep panicking, so Richie counts it as a win.

“Don’t use me being a ghost as a bit if you’re going to butcher it. It has to actually be funny Richie, or then it won’t be worth it.” Eddie teases.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be okay.

\--------------

There is very minimal discussion of ghostly things of any kind, for the rest of the night. 

Of course, because they are who they are, there are a few tense moments when Eddie touches him and Richie accidentally flinches away from how cold Eddie is, but they manage to push through nonetheless.

By the time Richie’s eyes are starting to droop dangerously low, they have figured out a couple of things.

One being that Eddie can’t eat or drink anything, he’s able to touch and move things around, but eating and drinking are a no go. Another being that Eddie doesn’t need to sleep, he’s pretty sure even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Also he can just fade in out as he pleases, he doesn’t really knows where he goes but he can just go. He can't in fact smell anything. There’s a few other things that are vaguely important like the fact that he’s perpetually cold, and literally doesn’t have a heartbeat, and his chest doesn’t rise and fall. 

Richie doesn’t want to know how he figured out half of the things he tells Richie as they basically cuddle on the couch, so he doesn’t ask. 

Eventually, Eddie stops in the middle of a sentence, and looks at Richie fondly. “You should go to bed Rich, it’s late.” 

In the midst of his exhaustion and ever present disbelief of the situation that they’ve found themselves in, Richie lets himself be honest in a way he wouldn’t have otherwise ever been.

“I’m scared you won’t be here when I wake up. Don’t really know if I could handle that, after, you know, all of this.” Richie punctuates his statement by squeezing Eddie close to his chest, ignoring the tingly feeling it gives him.

“Richie, I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise. And if I break my promise, you can buy a Ouija board or something, and summon me so you can yell at me.”

Eddie laughs when Richie scoffs and makes a motion as if he’s going to ruffle his hair. Instead, Richie just rest his face in Eddie’s soft hair.

He isn’t real, Richie reminds himself.

“Lets just stay here, on the couch. You can watch me sleep. You’ll be my own personal Edward Cullen.” Richie is mumbling into Eddie’s hair now.

Eddie resist for a moment before letting himself get comfortable in Richie’s iron tight embrace. “You’re too old to use that reference.” 

Richie laughs.“Hey, you know the reference too shithead.” 

“Just go to sleep Richie.”

And Richie does.

He Dreams about Eddie and him when they were twelve, too young to know about the sorrows they were going to face. Dreams about climbing into windows in the middle of the night, and snuggling up next to Eddie in the back of Mike’s pick up truck after a day spent in the woods. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in months. 

Richie doesn’t wake up once, and Eddie is still there when he wakes up. 

———-

Once Richie is awake enough to hold a coherent conversation, Eddie asks him about work. 

  
He almost spits out his hot coffee and jumps up to call his manger, who is frighteningly pissed off when Richie says he’s not going to be able to make it to the meeting that was set to start in _twenty minutes_.   
  
After a ten minute conversation where Richie pulls out all the stops, using charm and false promises he knows he won’t follow through with, he lets his manger know he feels burned out (which is only half a lie) and that he’s decided he needs to take a few days off.   
  
Richie considers it a win when his manager only curses at him a total of six times, but tells him to take care of himself anyways.    
  
Eddie looks amused when he goes to sit back down at the kitchen table after he hangs up. Richie missed him so fucking much.   
  
“Looks like I’m all yours Eds.”    
  
Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. “Glad to see you’re still all over the pass. You haven’t changed at all.”   
  
Staring at him over his cup of coffee, Richie lets himself indulge in the feeling of having Eddie back with him.    
  
“Oh Eddie Spaghetti, you haven’t missed much.”    
  
And so they pass the day like that, catching up on what they missed in each other’s lives since they both left Derry after High School.   
  
Eddie is apprehensive at first, telling Richie every few minutes that he doesn’t have to stay in the apartment with him, that he’s free to go take care of his business. He promises that he’ll still be there when Richie gets back, which is a nice sentiment, but very unnecessary.    
  
It takes Richie grabbing his face and shaking him a little for Eddie to stop acting like Richie has more important things to do.   
  
“The world could quite literally be burning outside this apartment right now, and I wouldn’t care Eddie. You are the only entertainment I need my friend.” Richie tells him just a little bit too honest.   
  
Eddie beams over at him from where he’s sitting on the couch, and Richie lets himself bask in it.    
  
There’s still a nagging feeling tugging at him, reminding him that he shouldn’t let himself get too comfortable. He isn’t allowed to keep the Eddie that sits on his kitchen counter and laughs until he's wheezing, while he watches Richie almost burn himself about twenty times trying to make a crepe for lunch. He knows they’re going to have to figure something out soon.   
  
But, they ignore the inevitable, and they just talk, and manage to fall back into how they were when they were teenagers, pushing and pulling into each other’s space. They begin to fall right back into each other’s orbit as if neither of them had ever really left.   
  
It’s pretty jarring, and Richie never wants it to end.   
  
It’s going to end, a part of him keeps saying over and over again, like a mantra.    
  
He tries to be okay.

———-

The days pass in a blur and they both let it happen. They're living in each others pockets, cooped up and hidden away from the world in Richie’s apartment. They’re pretending like Eddie isn’t dead or a ghost.    
  
Richie still answers the daily phone calls he gets from the others, he doesn’t want them to start worrying about him. He puts the calls on speaker so Eddie can listen, and he lets Eddie cry into his shoulder every time he talks to someone new. He doesn’t mention it because he knows Eddie wouldn’t want him to.    
  
Richie tells him stories about college and listens to Eddie’s own stories in return, wishes so badly to have been able to live through the moments that Eddie takes him through with such fondness.   
  
“I didn’t sleep for three whole days once. Over a fucking paper. I drank so much red bull I thought my insides were going to rot. My roommate was maybe three cans away from taking me to the hospital probably.” Eddie tells Richie as they sit on his fire escape one morning, watching people walk their dogs and run errands.   
  
Richie sputters and looks over at Eddie in bewilderment. “You drank red bull in college? Eddie what the fuck? I distinctly remember you yelling at me for drinking soda when we were younger!”    
  
“You drank it everyday Richie! You never drank water, like ever. I remember you being proud of that very fact.” Eddie shoots back.   
  
And they talk about life after college and how it was kinda really shitty for both of them.   
  
Eddie lays his head on Richie’s shoulder when they talk about it. They’re basking in the late afternoon sun, sitting on Richie’s living room floor, backs up against the couch.   
  
“I....did so much stupid shit after college. A lot of stuff I’m not proud of. I was just so fucking lost, you know. Felt like I had everything planned out, and then suddenly I had no clue what I was doing.” Richie says while pointedly not looking at Eddie.    
  
“You don’t have to be ashamed of that stuff Richie,” Eddie whispers, the moment feels too important to be talking any louder. It feels private and like they’re in their own little bubble, “I felt the same way. I Did some stupid shit, hung out with the wrong people, but then I got my shit together. And so did you Rich. You are not your bad experiences Richie.”    
  
Richie feels like sobbing like a child when Eddie leans up to whisper into his ear. “You’re good Richie, you’ve always been too good.”    
  
And they do not talk about Eddie’s wife, or how they met, and when they got married. Eddie doesn’t ask Richie about any past relationships, if there’s even been any past relationships. So they leave it, and just pretend the world is only made up of the two of them.    
  
Eddie watches him cook and clean up around the apartment when necessary, rags on him for the smallest things and Richie thrives off of it. Messes up the chocolate pancakes he’s making one morning just so that Eddie can push into his space, and touch him, and tell him exactly what he’s doing wrong.   
  
They eventually stop sleeping on the couch because Richie is severely fucking up his back, Eddie only teases him a little bit. Richie bitches at him because ghosts don’t get aches and pains.    
  
When night falls, they slowly make their way towards the bedroom. They don’t talk about it, and it almost feels inevitable when they collide and connect together under the covers. Richie sleeps and doesn’t know what Eddie does, never asks when morning comes, and they hold each other. Richie holding on so tight he would be afraid of hurting Eddie if he wasn’t a literal supernatural being.    
  
Eddie holds him back just as tight, whispers a thank you into his neck every night before Richie doses off to sleep.    
  
Richie doesn’t know what they’re doing. He doesn’t dare ask.

————-

At around day four of pretending like everything is fine, Eddie starts getting anxious.   
  


“I feel like I should be doing something Richie. Not just hiding away in your apartment.” Eddie explains, worrying at his lip, as they sit on Richie’s couch after watching _Zombieland_.  The irony isn’t lost on either of them.   


  
Richie considers what he could say and lands on a joke because he really, really, really doesn’t feel ready to have this conversation just yet. “I don’t think I'm that bad of a host.”    


  
Eddie glares at him. “Beep Beep, Richie. Come on, I’m being serious.”    


  
He scoots closer to Richie on the couch, starting to shift around the way he always did back when they were younger and Eddie always had something to worry about.   


  
And Richie guesses they can’t avoid it any longer. So, he takes a deep breath and does what he does best. He starts talking.   


  
“Okay so we know that you have something that you still need to accomplish here on Earth, or whatever,” He cringes and shoots Eddie a smile when he cringes too. They really are grasping at straws here, “What do you think it could be? What was missing in your life when you were alive?”   


  
Immediately, there’s a shift in the air that Richie doesn’t like, but he ignores and pushes through it. He stares at Eddie and watches in fascination as his face changes.   


  
He looks sad and angry, and a little bit hopeful, and then lands on pure exhaustion. As if someone has just cut all of the strings that were holding him up.   


  
“I don’t know Richie. I really can’t think of anything.” Eddie sighs, looking away from him.   


  
Richie stands up, and starts pacing in front of the TV. “Oh come on Eds, we both know your life wasn't perfect by, like, a long shot.”   


  
It’s apparently the wrong fucking thing to say.   


  
In an explosion of movement, Eddie flinches like he’s been hit and looks up at Richie with anger in his eyes.   


  
“You don’t know anything about my life Richie. We missed years of each other, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”    


  
Richie lets the silence hang between them for a moment before catching Eddie’s eyes.   


  
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”    


  
Eddie looks at him searchingly and lets out a deep breath. “Then explain to me what you meant Richie.”

Richie shuffles uncomfortably in place, avoiding looking over at Eddie who is still sitting on the couch, looking like he’s ready to take a swing at him. 

“I don’t know dude...maybe it has something to do with your mom? Or like, your wife?” And Richie immediately knows he has said the wrong thing yet again when Eddie inhales sharply, standing up so fast he makes Richie tilt over a bit.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean exactly?” Eddie shoves a finger into Richie’s chest, hard. He wonders if it’s possible for there to be a bruise from a ghost. A sick part of him hopes so, at least he’ll get to keep something. 

“Eddie I’m just saying. I'm just trying to help you make sense of what’s going on,” Richie stares at Eddie, winces when the tentative hand he rest on Eddie’s shoulder is immediately shrugged off, “You had trouble with your mom growing up Eds. She fucked you up pretty good, we both know that.”

Eddie seems to deflate slightly at that, glancing at Richie. So Richie continues. 

“And your wife, man. I know there’s something going on there too Eddie. I knew from the moment you brought her up when we went back to Derry. Why won’t you just admit whatever it is already?” Richie pleads with him, hating the way Eddie’s walls immediately go back up at the mere mention of his wife’s name.

“What the fuck do you know Richie?” Eddie spits out, sitting back down roughly on the couch, a hollow and spiteful smile plastered on his face, “Why am I even listening to you? Literally everything in your life is a mess. You drink yourself to sleep most nights, and you ignore everyone who gives a fuck about you. I’m dead Richie, and I have my shit more together than you ever have.”

Richie feels all the air get sucked out of his lungs as Eddie shuts his mouth with an audible click, a look of immediate remorse taking over his features. He doesn’t try to apologize, not like Richie expected him to.

“Nice. You were always good at saying exactly how you felt Eddie.” Richie turns away from him, desperately willing the shake in his voice to go away, failing miserably.

Only Eddie could have the power to make him feel like that awkward twelve year old who always said too much, always did too much. 

He’s not sure of what to do with his hands or his arms or his body. Richie feels like he’s getting pulled in by the tide, like someone is shoving his head under the water. 

One glance back at Eddie who looks like he’s five seconds away from getting up to tug him close to, to apologize, and Richie knows he needs to get the hell out of there.

Eddie must see the panic in Richie’s eyes and makes a move to get off the couch. 

“Don’t. Don’t follow me.” Richie grabs for his car keys that he hasn’t touched in days. Ignores Eddie’s wounded eyes following his every movement. He doesn’t even really know if Eddie  _ could _ even follow him or the apartment.

As he reaches for the front door, Richie feels his heart constrict tightly in his chest, he turns to look at Eddie, hand gripping the doorknob so tight he feels like he’s going to rip the door off its hinges.

“Just for the record, my life is such a fucking mess because my best friend died and I couldn’t save him in time. What’s your excuse? You’re a ghost Eddie. You’ve been dead for months now. Stop being so fucking afraid of everything.” 

And with that Richie slams the door and doesn’t look back. He doesn’t exactly know where he’s going, but he doesn’t look back. 

He isn’t really surprised when he comes back home a few hours later after sitting on a park bench freezing his nuts off, to find the apartment silent and empty, and devoid of any Eddie.

So, Richie does what he does best when shit hits the fan. He distracts himself. He picks up his room, organizes all of Bill’s books into a nice little pile on his desk. Tries to not start crying over every little thing. He answers Ben’s call and they talk about how cold it’s getting, and about Richie flying to New York. They talk and they talk and even when Ben says goodnight, says  _ Love you, Trashmouth _ , he doesn’t mention a word of Eddie. Wants to keep it all to himself. Wants to hold it close to him and set it aflame. 

Richie doesn’t dare touch an ounce of alcohol. 

He ends up falling asleep in his bathtub.

Eddie still isn’t there when he wakes up. 

\---------

  
  


Richie is outside smoking on his fire escape when Eddie finally shows up again. It’s cold as fuck outside and it’s also been three agonizingly horrible days since he’s last seen Eddie, so all in all, his reaction to seeing the man climb through the open window feels warranted.

And by that he means Eddie startles him so badly he almost falls over the edge of the fire escape, causing both of them to scream while Eddie reaches forward to grip on tightly to Richie’s shoulder.

“Jesus fuck Richie! What the hell was that?” Eddie is basically screeching as he helps haul Richie back up, looking at him like he’s lost his mind once he settles back down.

“You’ve been gone for three days! You expect me to what? Not shit myself when you suddenly reappear out of thin air,” Richie huffs, taking a long drag from the blunt, “Not exactly like I was expecting you. I thought you...weren’t coming back. I thought you left.” 

Richie refuses to look at Eddie. He looks out at the busy night life going on down below them instead. He’s watching groups of college kids huddled close together, make their way towards bar after bar, laughing and hollering at each other from across the street. Beside him, he can feel Eddie fidgeting, trying to find the words to say.

“I wouldn’t just leave Rich. You have to know that I wouldn’t.” Eddie says softly, discreetly leaning closer towards Richie.

“How would I know that Eddie?” Richie flicks the remaining blunt over the fire escape, and doesn’t ask Eddie where he went to exactly. 

He’s not too terribly high, he just feels loose and warm. If he’s being honest, getting high isn’t as fun as it was when they were all teenagers, and everyone would yell at him and Bev for coming over reeking of weed and ash. He gets headaches now if he smokes too often, being old fucking blows. 

But, he had loved feeling this type of high when he was with Stan and Bev. They would always let him rest his head in their laps. Sometimes Stan would even run his fingers through Richie’s hair, complain about how messy it was, and help him detangle it. Bev would play music on her radio, and would talk about how she wanted to dye her blue. 

He misses Stan so much. It hits him like a punch to the throat every time he remembers that Stan is gone too. He never got to say goodbye, none of them did. Didn’t remember there was even someone to say goodbye to. There’s too much for Richie to miss in the world, he doesn’t know where to put all of it. Doesn’t think he can hold it all to himself and keep himself together. And as soon as Eddie does leave for good, he’ll have to go back to missing him all over again. 

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asks tentatively. Richie is high enough to not be mad at Eddie anymore, so he lets the shorter man lean into him. He’s reminded that Eddie is very much dead and that his ghost is somehow resting all his weight on him, and decides that the last thing he wants to do is be angry with Eddie. He’s not sure how much time they have left anyways.

“I’m thinking about us, all of us, as children. How annoying and stupid we all were,” Richie chuckles, feels a headache start forming behind his his eyelids as Eddie laughs too, and leans his head on Richie’s shoulder, “How did Stan not kill any of us? Even Benjamin had his moments of driving Stan up the wall.”

“To be fair, I think anyone on planet earth could have driven Stanley up the wall.” Eddie looks up at Richie, giving him a goofy smile. 

Richie loves him. Richie loves him. Richie loves him. Richie loves him so much he wants to be buried in the ground with it. Richie loves him so much he wants to keep it all to himself. Richie loves him so much. Richie is going to have to lose him again.

It’s a vicious and pathetic cycle, Richie thinks.

“He was the fucking best. I don’t think we told him that enough.” He feels an itch in his throat, coughs into Eddie’s hair just to spite him, thinks he deserves it a little after everything. Eddie just shoves him lightly.

“We always went bird watching with him, even when he would yell at us for breathing too loud. I feel like that was our form of telling him that we loved him.” Eddie whispers, he sounds like he’s going to cry, but Richie can’t deal with that at all.

Richie will later blame the weed and the way it is making everything fuzzy around the edges. Tricking him into thinking Eddie is suddenly radiating warmth like the fucking sun. He’ll blame the night sky and the sound of laughter and chatter from down below flowing through the crisp night air. He’ll blame Eddie for picking him to fucking haunt over everyone else, for what he says next 

“Stan was the only person I ever told I was Bi.” 

Richie doesn’t breathe, doesn’t dare look at Eddie. He instead looks up at the many stars that are dotting the sky and feels his entire body go into fight or flight mode. He feels a lot less fucking high all of a sudden.

Eddie moves away, trying to catch Richie’s eyes. “You could have told me, Richie. You always could have told me.” He says soothingly.

Richie feels like he’s going to die for the 50th time in two days.

“I don’t know, Eds. It’s not like I thought you or any of the others would suddenly hate my guts per say, but I ...I couldn’t risk it. Especially with you.” Richie explains, giving Eddie a shy smile.

It’s out there. Someone other than Stan knows, and the world hasn’t collapsed in on itself. Eddie is leaning in closer. 

“I wish you would have told me Richie. It would have been okay, more than okay, even because ...because, I, I…” 

Richie suddenly feels his heart in his fucking head. “You what, Eddie?”

“Because I would have understood. I would have gotten it too Rich.” He says in one breath, Richie is almost sure he hears him wrong.

He doesn’t say anything, but takes Eddie’s hand in his own, doesn’t think about letting him go anytime soon. Richie waits for him to speak again, lets Eddie have a moment. 

“I’m gay, Richie. I’m pretty sure I’ve always been gay. Yeah, I-I, I’m…...gay.” Eddie laughs a little hysterically, using his free hand to scrub his fingers through his hair roughly. Richie can see the fear rising in his eyes. 

Richie tugs at his hand, forces Eddie to look at him. “Talk to me, Eds. You’ve got nothing to be scared of anymore.” 

The younger man stares at him for a beat, holding his words. And then, Richie watches him deflate like a balloon. 

“I don’t think I was ashamed, or maybe I was, I don’t know. I do know that I was scared out of my fucking mind all the time. My mom, she would watch the news and hear about the AIDS epidemic and she would say nasty, vile things about Gay people. She said it was God’s punishment to man for touching the skin of other men,” Richie tightens his hold on Eddie’s hand, letting him know that he was right there, “I was so scared all the time, every waking minute I was terrified of someone finding out. Just the thought of anyone looking at me, and even thinking that I was, you know, that I was Gay, made me want to hide. And that feeling never really went away. Then I met Myra, and in my head she was safe. In my head, I thought if I married her, I would be proving myself wrong. I thought after I married her, I wouldn’t think about it ever again.” 

Eddie takes a deep shuddering breath, turns to fully face Richie. The fire escape isn’t that big, so they’re squished close together, their breaths mingling together in the small space between them. Richie’s hands are numb from the cold and from Eddie, but he cannot for the life of him imagine wanting to be anywhere else. 

“But I  _ was  _ Gay, or I mean I am Gay, currently? I mean, I’m dead so I don’t think it matters much anymore, but I never really got to say it to anyone. I think Bev might have known, but I’m not sure. I was never sure if I was being secretive enough back then. And ,uh, that’s why I exploded on you earlier. There was still fear of anyone knowing, but, I don’t want to be afraid anymore Rich. I’ve spent my whole like being scared of myself. I’m a ghost and I’m gay, and I’m exhausted.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Richie leans forward and places a gentle kiss to Eddie’s forehead, and lets it linger. He’s cold everywhere, but Richie’s chapped lips meet soft skin and somehow it feels like destiny. 

Eddie makes a low wounded noise, and places his hands on Richie’s chest, grips onto his jacket tightly. He’s crying now, but Richie doesn’t mention it. He lets the tears fall down Eddie’s face silently, and holds him as tightly as he can, tries to put him back together through sheer force of will.

“I think you should scream it.” He whispers against Eddie’s temple, trying his best to memorize every detail of Eddie in this very moment. The way his hair is wisping in the wind. His frown lines and wrinkles that showed up with age, in the time that Richie hadn’t known him. The lights of Downtown Chicago reflecting off of his watery eyes. He looks alive, scared shitless and peaceful at the same time, and Richie only ever wants to remember him looking like this. 

“What are you talking about it?” 

“Scream it. To the whole world, or at least to the city of Chicago. They want to hear it Eddie.” Richie urges, gesturing to the world down below them, a handful of people still scurrying down the street, living lives that Richie and Eddie will never know about. 

Eddie looks at him wearily. “Don’t be stupid Rich.” 

Richie just looks at him, raising his brows in silent a challenge. Eddie swallows audibly and detangles himself from Richie’s grip, standing up tall on the fire escape, back straight and a determined look on his face. 

He looks up at him in awe, tries to connect the Eddie that he was in love with when he was twelve years old and still trying to figure out who he was and who he loved, and the Eddie that is standing in front of him now, as a ghost, but somehow, realer than ever. There’s a sort of a disconnect, Richie doesn’t know where anything ends and begins, but he knows that he’s loved every version of Eddie that the world has given and taken away from him in the same breath. 

And looking at Eddie now, 40 years old and still very much dead, standing on his fire escape, gripping onto the railing, a secret that he’s held for years caught between his tongue and cheek, ready to come out. Richie is no longer afraid. He is consumed with love and fire, he is being burned in the best way possible. He feels like he’s being stitched back together. 

He now knows with certainty that he’ll love Eddie till his last breath and even after, and that it’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.  _ They _ will be okay. 

“Okay, Okay. Alright, Ye-Yeah, I can do this,” Richie watches in amusement as Eddie hypes himself up, can see him clenching his jaw tightly.

RIchie whoops. “Yes you can!”

“Okay, here I go,” Eddie huffs out a quick breath, surprises Richie by reaching behind him blindly, and grabs purchase of his hand, clinging onto Richie for dear life as he screams out into the frosted night.

“IM GAY! I AM SO STUPIDLY GAY! I LOVE MEN, I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED MEN!” Richie laughs and feels Eddie’s braveness flow through him when he places a gentle kiss to Eddie’s knuckles, urging him to keep going.

No one is looking up at the fire escape, Richie knows no one but him can hear Eddie screaming, he doesn’t point that out though, and lets Eddie keep going. 

“YOU HEAR THAT MOM? YOUR SON IS GAY! HE’S GAY, AND HES DEAD. BUT HE’S HAPPY,” Eddie takes a shaky breath, clears his throat, and steels himself one last time, “IM NOT AFRAID ANYMORE. I'M JUST ME. IM JUST FUCKING ME.” 

The silence that follows rings loudly in Richie’s ears as Eddie stops screaming and sits back down next to him, he’s shaking. Richie finally lets his laughter bubble over, pulling Eddie into his side when he looks at him stunned, almost as if he forgot Richie was there with him.

“I knew you had it in you little guy,” 

There’s a moment where Richie thinks he’s about to spew out every thing he’s been thinking since he was a fucking teenager but he holds it back, decides on something safer. “You were always braver than the rest of us Eds. You just couldn’t see it like we could. Like  _ I _ could.”

Eddie looks up at Richie with an unreadable expression on his face. “I love you, Richie.” 

It is so close to what Richie has always wanted to hear from Eddie, but it’s not the same. Richie knows Eddie doesn’t mean it in the way Richie has always meant it. He has no idea how much Richie has always wanted more, and more, and more. And maybe, Richie just has to learn to be okay with that, it’s not like he has much choice in the matter. 

He forces a smile, feels like he needs to run away, do anything but be touching Eddie. It’s all so close to what he’s always wanted, but never close enough. 

Richie takes a deep breath. “Well, I would hope so Kaspbrak. We killed a clown together, like, twice. I love you too man.” 

He’s immediately confused when Eddie lets go of his hand, a look of hurt and something that looks like betrayal flashes across his face, too fast for Richie to understand what it all means.

“Hey, hey, wait. What did I say wrong?” Richie pleads, feels his pulse spiking when Eddie turns his back to him slightly, his head hanging down.

Eddie breathes heavily and trips over his next few words. “I’m being dumb. I’m sorry, you didn’t say anything wrong, I’m just…..I thought ...I guess what I thought. I don’t know. It’s fucking dumb anyways. It’s all pointless now anyways.”

Richie stares at Eddie for a long moment, the way Eddie’s entire body is tense and afraid, and then it clicks. It all starts clicking in Richie’s head so fast and with a force that leaves him reeling and about five seconds away from accidentally falling off the fire escape. 

The fact that out of everyone in the world that Eddie could be with right now, he’s with Richie. The fact that Richie was the only person that Eddie ever let be so casually affectionate with him. The fact that no matter how angry Richie made him, Eddie was always right there, ready to help him with whatever he asked. The fact that Eddie  _ died _ for Richie. 

Maybe, Richie thinks, just maybe, Eddie loves him too. 

_ You just gotta be brave, Richie. Just be you. Be proud, Rich. _ He hears Stan’s voice pound through his head. He takes a moment to think,  _ thanks for showing up again, Staniel _ , hopes that wherever Stan is, that he knows Richie loves him, and then goes for it.

He gently grabs a hold of Eddie’s face, forces Eddie to look at him. “I’m going to say this, and I need you to listen to me Eddie. I have to say this now, because I’m scared that this is my last chance to ever say it again, and I need you to listen, and I need to know that you understand what I’m telling you.” 

Eddie nods, his eyes transfixed and glazed over as he stares at Richie.

“I think we’re both getting a second chance here, to say things we should have been saying for years. And, I don’t know whether to thank God, or the universe, or I don’t know! Some fucking turtle God that floats in the sky. I don’t know and I really don’t care, because either way, you’re somehow here right now, and I love you Eddie. I am in love with you. I always have been.” 

Richie sucks in a breath, he’s panting and he knows he must sound insane but he needs to keep going. He holds up a finger to Eddie’s mouth when the man looks like he’s about to speak.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you because you’re my best friend, but I also just am in fucking love with you man. I’ve been in love with you since we were gross and awkward kids, and you wouldn’t let me touch your face unless you watched me wash my hands. I loved you then, and fuck me, I still love you now, and I know for a fact I loved you even when we forgot about each other, because no one else ever felt right.”

They’re both sniffing and clinging onto each other, his knuckles hurt from it. Richie would be worried about attracting attention, they’re still on his fire escape for fucks sake, but it’s four in the morning, and Richie could not care any less. Because, Eddie, is a ghost, and soon he’s going to leave Richie again, but for now, he’s right in front of him, and things are okay because he thinks that Eddie might love him too. 

“Eddie, fuck  _ Eddie _ . I am most definitely still going to love you when you leave again, and it’s going to kill me, but I love you. I never got to say it, and this is not how I ever planned to tell you. We’re a fucking mess, But I love you, I feel like I could say it a billion times and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Eddie lets out a quiet sob, he’s smiling brighter than Richie has ever seen, and he promptly smacks a hand over Richie’s mouth.

“Me too, Richie. All of that, me too. I love you so much, but you already stole the show with that speech.”

“I always wanted to be the star of the show Eds, you know that.” 

They’re both giggling nervously, and Richie can see the way Eddie is avoiding making eye contact with him. He feels like they’re teenagers all over again, messy and all over the place. Richie is going to love Eddie until he can’t anymore. 

He finally breaks the silence after a minute, reaching out to cradle Eddie’s face in his hands, touching his bottom lip with his thumb. “Since when?” 

And just because he can, he leans in and kisses both of Eddie’s eyelids, basks in the way Eddie giggles and grabs at Richie’s wrist, keeping him close.

“You’re going to laugh at me. It’s really fucking dumb.” Truth be told, there had never been anything in the world that ever made Richie think that Eddie was dumb, and that wasn’t going to start now.

“Tell me anyways. I think I’ve waited long enough. I’ve been a good, patient boy.” Richie snickers as Eddie gags jokingly, tucking his head under Richie’s chin. They fit like a puzzle. It makes Richie ache.   


“Don’t ever say that again, to like, literally anyone,” Richie mumbles something about deflection and Eddie huffs indignantly, “Fine, Fine. Do you remember that one night, when you and Bev got so high while trying to get Stan and Bill high? We were about to start our freshman year.” 

Richie gets a quick flash of Him, Bev, Stan, and Bill at the quarry. It had been sticky hot and suffocating, even after just swimming, the sun had felt intrusive as it was beginning to set. He remembers teasing Stanley, and getting him to smoke without too much of a fight that particular night. It was the one and only time Richie could say he got too high for his own good.    


  
“You came over to my house, later that night. You climbed in through my window high off your ass, laughing and making so much damn noise that I almost pushed you out the window myself,” Eddie pulls away slowly, reaches up to start running tentative fingers through Richie’s grown out hair, “You were complaining, and barely making any fucking sense might I add, about gum in your hair. Bill had put it in there when you made fun of Stan for something stupid. It was a fucking mess Richie.”   


Eddie recounts the story so softly and with such care and affection, that Richie wants to kick himself. Doesn’t understand how they both missed something so huge like being in love with each other.    


  
“I almost told you to go home and deal with it yourself, but you looked….. you looked so small, and sad, and you came to me for help. I had never seen you like that, and I wanted to keep you in my room, hide you away from how I felt about you, and from my mother, and from that fucking town. I always thought you were too good for it,” Eddie twirls a strand of hair around his finger, cradling Richie’s face gently in his other hand.

“You ended up laying your head in my lap while I tried to get all the gum out. You let me bitch at you for getting high in the first place, and for letting Bill put gum in your hair,” He pauses, runs his thumbs across Richie’s bushy eyebrows, “I don’t know, you just let me be myself. I knew that I was annoying sometimes, and that I was too loud and harsh, but you let me be all those things and you still....touched me with a purpose that I never really understood. You still cared. It scared the fuck out me.” 

“I loved you so much It made me sick Eds.I still do obviously.” Richie says on an exhale, letting the other man’s words words fully sink in and  _ dig _ into his chest. He’s making sure he never lets them go.    
  


Eddie laughs sadly, caressing Richie’s cheekbones.   
  


“I guess we’re both pretty fucking bad at this huh?” 

  
And that’s when the reality of the situation finally sets in, and so does the fear.

“You’re dead Eddie. You Died. We love each other and you’re still dead. Nothing is going to bring you back.” Eddie gently shushes Richie, who is now fully on his was to Panic City.

Eddie is still cradling his face with both of his hands, trying to keep him calm. He is freezing to the touch. Richie is melting.

“It’s okay Richie. It’s okay honey. It’s more than enough for me to get to hear you say it. I know now, I know that you loved me just the way I loved you. And to know, and feel, and understand that I'm not some disgusting freak that I made myself believe I was for years. That means everything Richie.  _ You _ are everything. You have  _ always _ been everything. Even when I didn’t know it.”

Richie is gasping for air, he is drowning and trying to find something in this world to anchor himself to, because Eddie isn’t real. He’s a ghost and Richie doesn’t get to keep him. 

He takes to whispering into Eddie’s open palms, his words coming out muffled and small. “What if it’s not enough to just know?” 

  
“We have to make it enough Richie.” Eddie urges, and then before he can even blink or take a steadying breath, Eddie’s lips are on his.   
  


Richie is still for a second before Eddie’s cold hands gripping his neck shoot him into action. For the first time in his life, Richie shuts his brain off. And he leans into the fear.

And it’s perfect in all the ways it isn’t, because it’s them and this is how they were always supposed to be. Richie doesn’t think about how he’s kissing a ghost, because Eddie feels alive, and warm, and he’s kissing Richie like it’s the one thing he came back to do.

They’re best friends and they lost so much time, but it doesn’t matter right now, because Eddie’s tongue is literally in Richie’s mouth and it’s pretty much everything he’s ever wanted since he could remember. Everything else, Richie decides, can fuck off for a minute.

Eventually, Richie needs to breathe before he passes out and ruins the moment, but he keeps Eddie impossibly close. He rest his forehead against Eddie’s and just lets everything settle in. Richie wants to make sure that he and Eddie remember how they feel in this exact moment in time.

“Not that this isn’t the only thing I wish we could do for the rest of forever, but I’m kinda freezing my dick off right now.” Richie finally says after a minute of just looking at each other like a bunch of saps. 

  
Eddie groans, and shoves Richie away playfully. Immediately moving to stand up and finally go inside the apartment. “Andddd the moments over.”

  
“We were having a moment? What, since when? Why didn’t you tell me ghosty?”

“Richie, for fucks sake please don’t call me that.” Eddie gripes as Richie goes to close the window.

He takes one last look out at the Chicago night sky, Eddie in the background bitching about Richie needing to change his living habits for when he’s gone, and sends a general thanks to God, and The Universe, and the Turtle God that floats in the sky. 

He owes them one.

————-

It’s almost six in the morning when Eddie becomes insistent that Richie needs to get to bed, laughs, and forces a gentle hand over his mouth when Richie starts making inappropriate jokes about consummating their relationship. They’re both still very much avoiding the fact that Eddie is bound to be gone soon. Richie knows that Eddie has completed his mission down here, found his peace, in the world of the living. He knows their time is slipping right through their fingers. 

“So, what now?” There’s a comfortable quietness filling the space around them. The darkness of Richie’s room keeping them away from the outside. It’s just him and Eddie, against the world like it was always meant to be. 

“I don’t know...maybe you’ll float into the ceiling? Maybe, you’ll become a star, or like star dust or some weird shit, that would be cool right?” 

There’s a beat of silence and then Eddie laughs so rough, Richie almost thinks it’s a sob.

Eddie shoots him a long-suffering glance. “Rich, shut up. I know it’s almost scientifically impossible for you to be serious for longer than a second. But try, for me.” 

Thinking for a long moment, he lays his head on top of Eddie’s shaggy hair. Richie is never going to be able to comprehend how real Eddie feels under his fingertips, he doesn’t question it in that moment, just lets it be.

“You fall asleep on me, old man?” 

“I think you should say something corny. I’ll be able to remember a false version of you, one that wasn’t, you know, a complete bully.” Richie jokes, placing a soft kiss on top of Eddie’s head, he smells like nothing, he is somehow still everything. They’re both squeezing each other so tight, the pressure is causing Richie’s chest to ache.

“Shut up, asshole. I am not a bully. I am so sorry that I am just so much more funnier than you.” 

Eddie cackles and Richie wants to swallow up his breath. He feels so much flowing through his body, he’s worried about bursting at the seams with the weight of it all.

“Whatever you say, Cutie. Well, since you’re no help, I guess I’ll go first,” He closes his eyes and breathes shallowly, he really doesn’t want to cry anymore. “I love you Edward Kaspbrak, more than I’ll ever be able to say to you. Don’t go forgetting that. I expect you to remember when we meet again, whenever and wherever it is we meet again.”

Richie is exhausted, and the beginnings of a sunrise are peeking through the bedroom curtains. He wishes more than anything for them to be able to live in this exact moment forever. 

“Richie, Christ. I love you too, don’t forget that either. You have worse memory than I do. How old are you again? 80?” Eddie is definitely crying now and deflecting, and all Richie can do is pull him closer, feel Eddie’s tears on his neck, “Just leave the light on and, I don’t know, just know that I’m always with you.” 

  
“What?” Richie pulls Eddie away from his chest slightly, stomach rolling at the look of peace on Eddie’s face. God, they should have had more time. 

  
Eddie clears his throat. “I said, leave a light on. I’ll be there.”

Richie’s next words get swallowed up by Eddie’s mouth as he presses in closer, kissing him with all he has. 

  
The kiss is salty from Eddie tears streaming down into their mouths, and the angle is all wrong, Richie knows his neck is going to ache in the morning. And it’s just on the wrong side of aggressive, their teeth clacking together as they smile. But, it’s Eddie, and it’s more than enough. It’s greater than all of the best parts of Richie’s life up until that point. 

  
Richie pulls away, whispering into the other man's mouth. “Very corny, my spaghetti. I like it.” 

Eddie begins to swat playfully at Richie’s chest as he starts smacking kisses all over his face and neck. He pulls Richie in impossibly tight. 

Richie wants to live in the space between Eddie’s neck and shoulder, wants to make a home there and never come out. He’s starting to accept the fact that he doesn’t get to do that, that it’s okay either way. Eddie manhandles Richie until they both settle comfortably, wrapped up in each other. 

  
“Go to sleep, Richie. Things will be okay in the morning.” 

There’s some fear in the words, in the unknown of how everything will truly feel once Richie wakes up. But, Eddie cups his face in his small, freezing cold hands, and kisses him one last time. 

  
They kiss until Richie’s lips go numb and his heart is thumping loudly in his chest. They kiss until Richie feels like he’s going to swallow Eddie up whole, and never spit him out. They kiss for all the years they never got to.

Eventually, they have to pull away from each other, breathless and laughing into each other’s mouths. It’s kinda gross, and kinda one of the most wonderful things Richie has ever lived through.

“Things are okay now, Eds.” Richie mumbles confidently as he finally lets his head rest on his pillow, peeking his eyes open to see Eddie smiling up at him sadly.   


“Yeah, they are sweetheart. They really are.” Eddie whispers into his cheek, wrapping himself entirely around Richie like a leech. Logically, he knows he should be freezing right now, but Richie has never felt warmer, he feels like he’s sitting on the fucking sun.   


  
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you....” Eddie chants over and over again, quietly into the side of Richie’s face, as if saying it a hundred times will make it stick longer. Richie’s many shattered pieces are slowly falling into place with every brush of Eddie’s lips against his cheek. 

  
Richie pulls Eddie as close to him as physics will allow him to, and finds himself falling asleep within seconds, the exhaustion of the last few days, finally settling in. 

  
He dreams about sunlight and glistening green water from the quarry back in Derry. He dreams about Stan and how he was the best friend he ever had, and about his stupid bird books and puzzles, and how much he loved him, and how they never verbalized it much, but they both knew. He dreams about Beverly and Bill and Mike and Ben and how they’re his family. They’re his last bit of sanity, and he’s going to keep them for as long as they allow him to.=

  
And, finally, he dreams about Eddie. Dreams of the carving he left on the kissing bridge, and the way Eddie would look in the biting cold Winters of Maine. How he looked all bundled up, smelling of pine and sap and looking like an angel that Richie wanted to pray to. He dreams of kissing Eddie behind the bleachers at Derry High School, which didn’t ever get to happen, but it all feels so real he can almost taste it on his tongue. He dreams of falling in love with Eddie from the very beginning.    
  
He dreams of Eddie and he’s falling, falling, falling, and he doesn’t stop falling.    
  


When he wakes up, Eddie is gone. 

\--------

In the two months after Eddie leaves for good, life goes like this for Richie, in no particular order:

Richie cries in the shower, in his kitchen, during his meetings for his Netflix special, and on the phone to Bev, and Bill, and Ben, and Mike, for four miserable weeks straight. He doesn’t tell them why, lets them know that he’ll be okay, he’s just having a moment, and that one day he’ll tell them everything.

He learns to live again, the right way this time. He, of course, listens to Eddie’s advice and starts cleaning his apartment more often, he actually cooks instead of eating out so often. He stops drinking altogether and starts seeing a therapist, her name is Lucy, she reminds him of Eddie. 

He asks Mike to build him a bookshelf, laughs when Bill sends him a long text afterwards telling him that under  _ no circumstances _ should Richie dedicate an entire shelf to him. Richie does it anyways. Bill cries about it, and tells Richie he loves him. They all make fun of him for it.

Ben and Bev finally fucking get engaged, and Ben, the big teddy bear, makes sure they’re all in New York when he does it. He had a plan to propose in Central Park, but ends up proposing in their apartment when all 5 of them are genuinely having an argument about what to eat for dinner. Richie thinks it’s more romantic that way.

Mike and Bill talk about maybe wanting to adopt a kid in the future, and Richie cries over the phone for 30 minutes straight. Isn’t too mad when Mike sends an audio recording of his blubbering in the groupchat a few days later. 

He records his Netflix special, and all the losers fly out to Chicago to see it. Richie tells stories about all seven of them, and how stupid they all were when they were teenagers. He decides to not do a bit about Eddie haunting him, considering none of the others know it happened at all, but Richie still wants to use the jokes at some point. Bev cries when she sees him afterwards, and Richie pretends he isn’t teary eyed when Ben tells him that Eddie and Stan would have been proud of him too. Richie knows that the both of them probably would have bullied him mercifully, it doesn’t ache to much when he thinks about it. 

But most of all, life moves forward. Richie wakes up everyday, and he still misses Eddie so much he thinks it’s going to drag him down, but it never does. 

In some odd way, Richie knows that Eddie is always with him. Watching over him and making sure he doesn’t let himself sink. He sees Eddie everywhere he goes, and he hears him in every song he listens to, and that’s more than Richie could have asked for. He makes sure to always leave a light on in his apartment, and he moves forward. 

\------------

Richie finds the letter that Eddie left him, an hour before he has to leave to catch his flight to Florida for his birthday, where he knows the others have something extremely cheesy planned for him. He managed to guilt-trip some details out of Ben, there’s apparently talks of going to Disney World. He’s probably way too excited about it.

The timing of Richie finding the letter is very weird and feels very planned, he laughs to himself in his empty apartment when he finds the letter under his bed, tucked away under a shoe-box filled with pictures of him and the losers. 

He curls up on the floor, back up against his bed, staring at the letter as if the neat handwriting on the front of the card will somehow materialize into Eddie himself.

Once he gets over his initial shock, with shaky hands, Richie opens the letter, forces himself to take a deep breath and reads it.

  
  


_ Dear Trashmouth,  _

_ Happy Birthday! _

_ I know you’re probably wondering how I knew you were going to read this on your birthday. I can’t tell you all my secrets Rich, there’s no fun in that. _

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you, was a little busy with other ghost things, you wouldn’t understand.  _

_ I just wanted to say that I love you, Richie. I have always loved you, even on the days when I wanted to kill you. I have loved you on the good and bad days, and everything in between. I wish I had gotten more time to tell you that. If only we both hadn’t been so fucking stupid. You, more than me, obviously. _

_ I’ll be waiting for you, just like I always have. Don’t rush or anything, I’ll be here when you’re ready.  _

_ You were the first thing I ever chose to love for myself, did you know that? I picked you dumbass, and how lucky are we that you picked me too? _

_ Tell everyone I love them, that I miss them. Try not to freak them out too much. _

_ I guess I’ll see you around lover boy. _

_ Love you forever and a day, _

_ Eddie Kaspbrak _

  
  


Richie is letting out little choked sobs as he closes the letter, holding it close to his heart. Willing Eddie to feel how much he loves him.

“I miss you.” Richie whispers to his empty room, like it's a secret between him and Eddie. 

After a few more minutes of reading and re-reading the letter, Richie wipes at his eyes and stands up.His legs are shaking a little and his phone is vibrating with texts from Bev who is no doubt reminding him not to miss his flight or she’ll kill him. 

Richie makes sure he has everything he needs, tucking the letter gently into the pocket of his jacket, and starts walking out of his bedroom when suddenly his bedside lamp turns on.

Richie stops and laughs a little hysterically as the light stays strong for a few seconds before it starts flickering, before turning off completely. He feels a burning warmth spread across his chest, swears he can feel someone touching the tips of his fingers. 

"I love you.” He shouts into the darkness of his room.

And knows with more certainty than he’s ever had about anything, that this time, Eddie hears him loud and clear. 

**Author's Note:**

> das facts das facts das facts das das facts das facts das facts
> 
> As always, I'm @ sventeens on tumblr if you want to scream at me over there! MWAH!


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